But He's Mine
by WhatComesFromWithin
Summary: Mothers make sacrifices. This was the greatest of them all, and, unfortunately, it would be the first and last that she could ever make for her son.


**A/N: Hello! This was written for Elizabeth, and was also beta'd by her! You're the best and I love you! **

**Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I don't own Harry Potter, or any of the characters, settings, or plot points associated with it. All rights go to her.**

**Warnings: Mental illness in the form of insanity and hints of depression, mother/son separation, and mentions of torture. Please do not read if any of these is a trigger for you.**

**Enjoy!**

She clutched her son closer to her chest. "You can't take him," she whispered, her voice breaking, "I love him. He's mine."

The man gazed back at her with sad eyes, but extended his hands towards her again, insistent and firm. "You can't take proper care of him," the man told her gently. "You're hurt. He needs someone else. Give him to me, and I'll make sure that he's okay."

Tears blurred her vision and she shook her violently. She leaned down and buried her face into the bundle of blankets that she held in her arms, into the little creature that _she_had brought into the world, that _she _loved more than anything and anyone else on the planet, that _she _had sworn to love and protect and care for as long as she lived. This was her baby, and she wanted to be his mother. But this man was telling her that she couldn't anymore. "But he's mine," she repeated weakly, gazing back up at the stranger as hot tears streaked down her cheeks. Her breathing became ragged and panic seized her. "No one else will love him like I do!" she wailed.

Shadows danced apart and wove together as the man took a step toward her. She did not know who he was, but lately he had been hanging around in the background no matter where she went or what she did. The only part of him she could see clearly were his eyes. They were deep and dark, and they always looked sad. She'd never seen any light in them, not even any moonlight. His eyes disappeared from her vision for a moment when he blinked. "That is true," he assented, "no one will love him as you love him. But there are people who will love him dearly and deeply all the same. They want to take care of him for you. You'll be able to see him sometimes, but he will have to come to you; you will not be able to go to him. Still, he won't leave you forever. One day, you and he will both see me clearly, and I'll bring you back together."

"But he's mine." She couldn't understand it. Why did he want to take her baby? Why did these people want her baby in the first place? He was hers—not theirs, not anyone else's. "They won't know that he likes watching…"—who was it? It was someone she loved, but she couldn't for the life of her remember their name—"…people blowing Drooble's Best Blowing Gum. They won't know his favorite lullaby. It's my job to know those things, no one else's. Why do you want to take him from me?"

The shadowy hand reached toward her and her child again, and she leaned as far back as she could, but she was cornered against a wall. She didn't like this place. It made her feel trapped and her head hurt. Her head was always hurting lately. It scared her. She felt so lost, so helpless in this place. It made her feel very emotional and panicky, and she longed for some kind of semblance of control.

But there was no control to be had here. She was so, so confused and she felt so, so alone. She never had a clear idea of what was happening, and everything was dark and blurry. She hated not being able to see anything. But no one turned on the lights, and no one was there to help her understand. Her instincts were screaming at her not to let go of her baby. _He _made sense to her. She needed him. She was approaching hysteria as she murmured over and over again, "He's mine, he's mine, he's my baby, he's not theirs…"

She shut her eyes, desperate to quash down the panic and overwhelming sense of loss that was crushing her. She cradled her child against her heart and pressed her lips against his forehead. It was so soft, and breathing in his smell calmed some of the emotions raging inside her. He had been quiet throughout the whole exchange, just calmly sleeping in her arms. Panic and deep, deep sorrow churned inside of her. He contrasted her perfectly. Something was pushing against her memory, this idea that maybe she was once this calm, that she had felt the way that he appeared, but she couldn't remember any particular events or moments, and she had no recollection of what had changed.

She was chaos. He was calm. She was disoriented, confused, lost, and helpless. He needed someone in control, someone who had a grip on their life and could take good proper care of him…

But she needed _him_. He was hers. Who could love him like she did? This was her baby, she had to try to be strong for her baby; she was screaming on the inside, feeling the agony overtake her, the feeling of inevitable loss driving her to tears. She heard tortured screaming and it made her afraid, so afraid, and she was pushing her back against the wall, her body moving on its own.

Then something in her mind clicked, just for a moment, allowing her one quick minute of clarity. In that moment, she realized three things: one, that it was her that was screaming, if her ragged breathing and hoarse throat were anything to go by. Two, that she was never getting out of this place. Maybe she would have moments like these, where things made sense for just a little while, but the being in front of her wasn't offering her a way out. He was offering one to her son.

And lastly, she realized that she could not keep her child here. She wasn't herself, and she would never be as long as she was stuck here. It was selfish, she decided, to try to trap her son alongside her. She may not know where he'd end up, but surely, _surely_, it would be better than this prison. He deserved a life, and he had a chance of getting that life anyplace else.

It was going to hurt. She would suffer for it, she knew, but a mother's love was strong, and a mother knew how to make sacrifices. This was hers. It was the first and last she would make, but it would also be the greatest that anyone would ever make for her son, and that would have to be enough.

It had to be.

Before madness overtook her again, she pressed one final, loving kiss against the crown of her son's head. Then, blinking back tears, she breathed in the scent of him one last time before she held him out toward the figure in front of her. "Let him be safe," she begged.

The shadowy man nodded, and her baby boy was taken out of her hands. "He'll understand what you've done for him," he promised.

The two of them then started to fade from her sight, and she felt herself slip back into fog her mind had become right after they had disappeared, and she heard herself start to shriek.

She studied the wrapper sitting on her bedside table. It said, _Drooble's Best Blowing Gum_. She liked that gum. It was fun to watch some of the people who visited her blow bubbles. The popping sound was so much fun! But the wrapper was her favorite part. It was blue, like the eyes of the boy who visited her from time to time. He was nice. She liked nice people. The gum wrapper reminded her of him.

He was always so sad when he came to see her. She didn't understand, but then again, she didn't understand a lot of things. Sometimes, if she looked at his face long enough, he made her feel a little less fuzzy, just like the man who slept in the other bed.

The boy made her feel better, and she wanted to make him feel better. She closed her fist around the wrapper and started to walk toward the curtain, which the blue-eyed boy had left through just a few seconds ago. She heard the vulture-lady who was always with the boy talking.

The lady asked her what she wanted when she had pulled aside the curtain. In response, she motioned toward the boy using the hand encasing the gum wrapper.

The vulture-lady sighed heavily, and then, with a frighteningly tight smile on her face, she told the boy—Neville?—to take her present. He stretched out his hand to her, and she carefully placed the gum wrapper in his hand. A sense of pride and affection bloomed momentarily in her chest when their hands touched, and she pulled back somewhat reluctantly.

Alice then turned around and started humming a tune from a long time ago, back when the world was in focus, and when she sang a soft lullaby to a baby boy who loved watching his father blow bubbles, back when nothing tampered with love.

**A/N: Thank you for reading!**


End file.
